


Trouble is a Trusted Friend

by rocketpool



Series: Angels with Dirty Faces: A Noir Tale [1]
Category: Actor RPF, Leverage RPF
Genre: First Person Narrative, M/M, contains some violence, cross-posted from LJ, yep there's sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-30
Updated: 2010-07-30
Packaged: 2017-11-02 04:28:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/364968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rocketpool/pseuds/rocketpool
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kane's got a murder to solve, and if he's lucky, one to prevent. Just his luck, it's got trouble written all over it. He always did love trouble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trouble is a Trusted Friend

**Author's Note:**

> For the fabulous [](http://ryuutchi.livejournal.com/profile)[**ryuutchi**](http://ryuutchi.livejournal.com/), who bid on me for Sweet Charity. She requested a noir au with plenty of cameos, and I even got in half of her extra-points plot point requests. I finished just barely on time, but the posting is late for the beta (thanks [](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/profile)[**raggedy_edge**](http://raggedy-edge.livejournal.com/)!) and edit phase (all mistakes are mine). I'm sorry, darlin', but I hope you enjoy it! Written in first person, Kane's POV.

 

  
I wish I could tell you how it came to this. Thing is, I ain’t quite sure of that point myself. Kind of a sad state for Christian Kane, PI, and for me, that’s saying something. Although I suppose for this, no one would blame me…

Gentle hands slide up my sides under my shirt, his calluses catching against my scars, and I don’t need him to be gentle, but at least he’s lost his hesitance. I swear if I hadn’t been the one to crowd him up against my desk we’d still be doing an awkward dance around this, whatever it is. It’s probably a bad idea. We should be looking at shipping manifests and inventory lists, trying to figure out what precisely someone was trying to steal when they broke into the museum. Maybe I should’ve left the Jack in its spot inside the bottom left drawer of said desk.

Instead I’m pulling at our belts and tipping my head up to nip at the spot just behind his jaw. He makes this noise like he’s pleased and surprised about it, his hips already hitching up when my hand slides down the front of his pants, and it’s almost too easy. He’s young, an idealist, an academic, and sure as hell doesn’t need to sully himself with the likes of me. But the man knows what he wants, reaches behind him and pushes all the paperwork off the desk and puts himself in its place, and it ain’t long before he’s pushed the rest of the clothes between me and him away as well.

He’s all impatience now. I might be relieved he’s not new to this, except I’m too busy leaving bruises on his dark skin with my mouth, with my hands. And then he does this thing with his hips, tightening around me, and any chance I had of thinking is gone. I growl against him, getting him to moan, but I claim his mouth and swallow the sound. And I return the favor, reaching a hand between us to stroke him. He arches under me, lifting his hips to meet every thrust and stroke.

We won’t be able to keep this pace up for long, so I pin his hips down, back us off a little and try to drag this out just a little longer. He pulls at me, broad hands clutching at me, urging me faster as he begins the ascent to falling apart. I’m sure he’d beg if I let him, but I keep him on the edge, keep him panting. His eyes are dark in the lamplight, needy and too intelligent for his own good. Part of me wonders what he sees when he looks at me, if what he sees is broken. I shift my angle a little and I can tell by the way his eyes roll back and his grip bites into my shoulders that I’ve hit the sweet spot.

It doesn’t take much more to push him over and I can feel it when he comes undone, when all he should be seeing for a few brilliant moments is that electric white behind his eyelids. He might say my name, he might not. I’m not sure because he’s tightening around me again, and he hasn’t stopped moving. My hips start to stutter —I’m losing the rhythm to the hot need coiled low in my belly, so close— and it’s his turn to claim my mouth, stealing my air, swallowing my moan when I finally can’t hold back any longer. For a moment there’s nothing more than his hands, his mouth, his tight heat surrounding me, and then it all gives way to the blinding rush of ecstasy.

Slowly we come down. I ease up and out of him, mostly to fetch something to clean ourselves with. He smirks at me a little, entirely satisfied with himself. I should want to wipe the look off his face. I find myself in the opposite state of mind, and I can’t help thinking that I knew better. I knew the moment I laid eyes on him.

Aldis Hodge is going to make my life complicated…  


~~~~~

  


I saw him across the lounge of this jazz club I frequent, a place known only as The Joint. I’d spent the day in my dismally quiet office, letting my cigarettes turn to ash in their tray and avoiding taking hits from the bottle by taking hits off my flask. Business has been slow the past few months —barring a job here or there snapping classy photos of rich not so classy infidelity for jealous spouses— so by the time the setting sun was spelling my name on my desk with the shadows from my door, I was ready to be somewhere else. Someplace I wouldn’t have to think much beyond why I wasn’t one of the musicians on the stage.

I had chased the visions in my head of what I ain’t got —blond curls, soft laughter to the tune of a guitar, and fuck but that smile, always that smile— with the last of my flask and forced myself to stand up. Realistically there’s a lot I don’t have in life, a long list of what I want, and a not so long list of what I need. Just then, I needed another drink. I needed a little extra money to keep things running. Hell, I needed a vacation, someplace in the country, preferably with a lot of horses.

What I had was a hat, a coat, a gun, and just enough money in my pocket to go looking for oblivion. I’d put them on and headed for the door. Which was the perfect moment for the phone on my desk to start ringing. I’d glared at it, debated for a moment whether or not I should answer. And then I’d decided that if whoever was on the other end really needed me, they could damn well call tomorrow.

The Joint was a classy place for the most part, a throwback to proper speakeasies that sits right on the railroad tracks, so to speak, and was owned by one Timothy Hutton. Hutton’s one to know something about everything, and knows just about everyone, both sides of the tracks and both sides of the law. He wouldn’t give up information, and sure as hell never moved anything through his club, but if you stayed on his good side, he was sure to introduce you to the man you needed. And there was Aldis Hodge was talking to him, the both of them staring straight at me.

Our eyes met for just a second, and then, right then, is when I knew. That boy was going to get me into a boatload of trouble.

I was already well into drinking, not too far but just enough to shrug it off and go back to watching the evening’s entertainment up on stage. It was only the house band, but they were good, better than most. I could feel the music like my own heartbeat, like my own soul, and it made the bad joints in my left hand ache with memory. If I just closed my eyes, I could almost pretend…

“Mr. Kane?” I opened my eyes and looked up. The kid was taller than I gave him credit for, and a little older than he’d seemed from across the room. He wore his innocence like a jacket, wide eyes earnest, and nervous about approaching me in the middle of the club. “Do you mind if I sit with you a moment?”

I glanced past the kid toward Hutton. The man had an easy smile, but eyes the color and hardness of flint, and I could tell by the way he raised a glass in my direction I’d better hear him out or Hutton would make things difficult for me later. “Yeah. Sure.” I watched the way he sat across from me, the neat press of his clothes and modest but neat bow tie. I was guessing he was some kind of academic, middle class but used to dealing with elitists, and obviously unused to dealing with someone like me. I tipped my hat back; it was the only thing I could do at that point to try and seem less imposing, what with my tie already loosened and my jacket in the coat check. “So…”

“I tried to call your office, but, uh. I don’t…” He sighed, fidgeting. “I’m not sure how I should…”

I was tempted to crack a joke about coming on to me —the way he kept glancing at my eyes and licking his lips was just the beginning of his interest— but there was something in his body language. The set of his shoulders, the way he kept clenching his jaw, the way he pressed his hands on the table to keep them from shaking… He was afraid. And not of me. “Start at the beginning,” I said, and if it came out sounding gentle I blamed the Jack. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Aldis. Aldis Hodge.” He bit his lip, eyes skipping over the crowd before coming back to me.

I waved at the waitress to bring him something. “Hodge. You the curator over at the Metro Historical Museum?”

He nods and licks his lips again. “I think someone is trying to kill me.”  


~~~~~

  


The facts are these:

Two nights before Aldis went to speak with Hutton at The Joint and was directed to me, he was meant to take an appointment down at the docks with a possible benefactor. Supposedly, this benefactor was interested in temporarily donating his collection as an exhibit to the museum, and had the shipment in storage at the docks for Aldis to look over. Unfortunately, Aldis’ brother Edwin and his new bride were passing through from Buffalo and only in town the one night, so Aldis sent his assistant, Jake, in his place. More unfortunately, poor Jake looked too much like Aldis in the shitty light at the docks.

“Can’t let you leave with these this time,” Detective Riesgraf said as she put a folder down on the desk in front of me and Aldis. She’s always been a good source of official —and not so public— information, not least because people misread her smile as sweet instead of calculating, but also cos I’ve always been sure to keep from blowing any case the police put together. “Chief Bellman’d have my hide.”

I smiled a little. The Chief’s a good woman, but she’s just as conscientious about city politics. Most things I stick my nose into don’t interfere too much with the upper class, but an attempt on the museum curator was bound to make more than a few of them squeamish. “Now why ain’t I surprised motherhood hasn’t softened her at all.”

“You said it, not me,” Riesgraf said, but she’s smiling just a little, just at the corners of her mouth. “And I mean it, these photos can’t leave the room.”

I nodded and waved her off. Aldis licked his lips and shifted in his seat uncomfortably, and if I _had_ had any questions as to his innocence —which wouldn’t have been many after watching him pace the entire night through— they’d be put to rest the moment I opened the manila folder. The shots were in black and white, of course, but his face paled like he was seeing them in full color, like the blood was pooled red and bright on the walkway, like he could see just how flat those eyes had become.

I knew how he felt. “You sure you’re up for this?” His head jerked in something like a nod, but his voice didn’t seem to work, and his eyes never left the photos. I settled a hand on his shoulder and squeezed and he looked up at me, blinking hard. He jerked his head in another nod, turning his eyes back to the photographs, so I pulled out my notebook and started copying details from the reports clipped to the left side of the folder. It was the straightforward stuff, the little details. Time of death, the exact location at the docks, any little notes that Riesgraf had left in the margins… I can see why her people hadn’t gotten very far, why Aldis would look for less traditional assistance. And I’d have preferred to take a look around myself but I didn’t see Bellman letting me out there just yet.

Besides, ain’t no way Aldis was ready to be there, and from the look on his face, he wasn’t ready to be alone either.

“Well,” I said, pausing at the way he looked up at me, eyes round in a mix of hope and fear and trust. That’s rare in my line of work. Trust. It made me want to set him at ease, which would be complicated at the moment to say the least. “From the coroner’s report it looks like it was quick. Probably painless.” It’s no small mercy, but he didn’t need to know about the alternative. Not when I’m about to give him the bad news. “It sounds like it was also professional.”

I reached past him, spreading the photos out some more on the table as I leaned over them, inspecting them. Our shoulders were touching, and Aldis swayed a little, almost leaning into me before leaning away. I didn’t know what to do with that, never have really. No one’s ever come to me for comfort, I’m not suited to it. Just give me somethin’ to hit, or somethin’ to drink and be done with it. Neither would be particularly appropriate for the police station.

“The shot was a clean through and through,” I narrated for him. Didn’t really want to, but I needed him to see what the rest of us were missing, and pointed to one of the photographs. “It was just one shot to the head, and no one at the docks would admit to hearing anything. Which could mean one of two things: whoever did this used a suppressor, or there was enough weight bein’ thrown around to make a bunch of sea dogs and heavy lifters nervous. Either way…” I shook my head. I didn’t like this one bit. “It was probably professional.”

“Would…” Aldis’ shoulders slumped a little and he looked away. “Would they have searched him?”

I frowned. “Always possible. What makes y’ask?”

He licked his lips and pointed to one of the photographs. “His waistcoat is open. Jake always keeps… kept it buttoned, always said he wanted to be properly dressed because it reflected on me and the museum.”

I turned back to Riesgraf’s notes, flipping through until I found the log of items found on him. I slid the list toward him. “Is there anything outta place on this list? Something missing, or something he shouldn’t have had?” Aldis stared at the list a moment then shook his head. “That may just mean they didn’t find what they were looking for. If they realize it wasn’t you, then they’ll —”

“Kane!”

I’d have ground my teeth at Detective Sheppard’s tone. The man doesn’t much like me —barely sees me as a step above a vigilante on good days, and as worthless scum living off the misery of the masses on bad ones— and has always thought that Chief Bellman ought to just keep me off the premises. Apparently they ran a tighter ship on the other side of the Atlantic, though I’d always wondered what he’s doing _here_ if he cared so damn much. “I’m a little busy, Mark.”

He grunted, almost a growl really. “It seems your Mister Hodge has got a visitor, and the Chief saw fit to have me fetch you both.” Sheppard paused, somehow managing to look annoyed and smug all at once. “Something about a break in at the museum. The Chief thought it might be… pertinent to your current investigation.”  


~~~~~

  


“I can’t believe…” Aldis’ fear was quickly turning to anger as he stared at the mess he would normally refer to as his office. The place was thoroughly tossed, the mess leading vaguely out the door to where the parts of a new exhibit had been roughed with as well. “What the hell is going on?”

“Good question,” I muttered. The exhibit was surprisingly untouched, at least in any way that actually mattered. Parts had been scuffed, ripped, knocked over. It _looked_ good, and sent up the smells of dust and mold and packing hay. But there wasn’t anything destroyed. And if his new assistant, Karl Barker, was to be believed, nothing had been stolen from it either. Which left Aldis’ office as the real scene of the crime. Fit with Jake being searched, too. What I didn’t know was if whoever did this found what they were looking for or not. Or which would be worse.

“Communists!” Barker declared at full volume. The guy was a hasty replacement for Jake, given that the museum was only a few days away from unveiling the exhibit, and the power was certainly going to his head. I reckoned he was trying to make up for the fact that he was older’n Jake and Aldis put together and stuck in a lower position. “It must be communists! This flagrant disregard for culture, for _history_! It’s despicable!”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and glanced over at Aldis. Oh yeah, kid’s definitely headed in the pissed direction, but he didn’t seem to be paying Barker any mind. I stepped up beside Aldis and looked at the piles of paper strewn everywhere, his desk drawers pulled out and emptied and smashed, seemingly random filing cabinet drawers too. The place was almost imposing in the last of the evening light. “First things first. We gotta figure out if somethin’s missing.”

It took time to get the papers picked up neatly and longer still to get them even relatively organized. My eyes were crossing for all the foreign countries and cultures and languages, especially since a good number weren’t even written in English, and I had to hold them up for Aldis to review in the shifted afternoon light. Occasionally Barker stood at the door and watched (and the other museum hands behind him as they crossed back and forth, little more than silhouettes in the dusty light from the hall), licking his lips with his eyes on Aldis’ hands. It irked me, which was stupid, and I wanted to punch Barker, which was stupider. Either way I figured getting whatever paperwork seemed pertinent back to my office would be healthier for us all. And maybe I’d get my thoughts together, trying to see things as a whole.

I was starting to get the feeling I was missing something too. “Hey Barker, why don’t you put yourself to use and pull us up the copy of the inventory of what y’all got in storage at the docks.” The man just blinked at me, as though surprised he’d been told to do something.

“Mister Barker,” Aldis said, teeth grinding but still managing to come off as polite. “If you please. Get the inventory lists from the freight room. And the shipping manifests for whatever came in two days ago.” I had to hand it to the kid, he definitely wasn’t stupid. “Right. This stack,” he pointed to a pile that was bigger than I would like, but certainly wasn’t the tallest, “has the most gaps. But I can’t say for certain if that’s just paperwork out of place or…” Aldis gestured vaguely.

“One step at a time,” I said in return. “It’s a place to start. Hopefully it’ll point me in the right direction.” I paused, looking around the room, trying to see what else I’d missed, what else there might be, and to memorize where we’d put things. “We should go to my office, avoid prying eyes. Without knowing who’s done this?” I shrugged. Aldis watched me for a moment, and I wasn’t sure how to read his expression before he looked away and nodded, gathering the papers into something he could carry.

“Here,” Barker said from the door, and I swear if I hadn’t already been standing, and close enough besides, he’d have dropped both lists (held only with clips, mind you) to the floor. The man didn’t even pause long enough for me to say thanks.

Of course if he had stayed, I probably wouldn’t have thumbed through the papers to ensure they were in fact what we’d asked for. When I did, something just barely caught the light from the lamp. A small, brass button, hanging by a ragged thread from the door jamb as though, maybe, it had snagged in passing.

“You missin’ a button?” I broke the thread to get a better look. There was an impression on it, familiar but escaping me, and too shallow to properly check it. Aldis shook his head, adding the ordered invoices and manifests to the other papers, and we were on our way.

Which, along with an uneventful evening ride, a vague attempt at pretending to look at the paperwork we’d brought with us, and the rest of my bottle of Jack passed between the two of us, brings me back to the present. We’re sprawled out on the floor beside my desk, faces in the shadow of the desk from lamplight and ignoring the mess of papers to one side. We’ve managed to get our pants mostly back into place, though we haven’t bothered with shirts.

Aldis is pressed against my side —from knee to hip, that is, ain’t either of us girls— head resting on my arm and looking infinitely satisfied. Not that the shadows of recent events aren’t still there, making his smile a little crooked, his eyes not so bright. Part of me wants to kiss him til he stops thinking all over again. He smirks at me for a moment, like he knows what I’m thinking, but instead reaches over and grabs a handful of papers.

“This’d be easier if we sat up.” Not that I’m keen on movin’, not in any way that doesn’t involve making him make that noise from earlier.

“Oh, I’ll sit up, believe you me.” He gives me a sly glance sideways. “But it isn’t going to be for the paperwork.” I raise an eyebrow at him, but he pretends not to notice and just holds out a couple sheets for me. “Can’t hurt to just look at a few…”

“Yeah, course.” I let my eyes skip over the words, not really looking. Except… The inventory sheet I’m looking at is for one of the museum’s storage unit on the docks. I’ve seen the number before, and I slide away from Aldis just gently enough not to knock his head on the floor. It takes a moment to figure out just where my notes ended up, but I flip through them quick and sure and yes. There. “Help me find the manifests. I need to know if unit 3342 received anything.”

I could swear the kid looks disappointed for just a second, but he starts going through the papers all the same. “Here.” He holds up a slip. “Looks… looks like Jake was the one to authorize it. It was a few pieces from Greece. He’s, he was… I was going to let him put the display together…”

I clenched my jaw. There was nothing definitive, but I had to go with my gut. Whatever was going on had to do with those pieces, and they’d be more than willing to put a bullet in Aldis to get to them.  


~~~~~

  


“This can’t be a good idea.”

Aldis isn’t far from wrong. For one thing, Bellman will have my head on a platter if she finds out, and then she’d revoke my license. And then there’s the part where we still don’t know who it is behind Jake’s murder. Yeah, breaking in to the crime scene should probably be ranked on the _bad_ idea list.

To be fair, I tried leaving Aldis in my office. Tried being the key word. I’m convinced I would have needed to actually lock him in the closet, handcuffed to a coat rail, just to give myself a head start. He can be… adamant, to say the least.

Thankfully getting where we need to be won’t be all too complicated. The area the police have kept roped off isn’t extensive, and Bellman’s only got one beat cop keeping an eye on it. Not to mention Aldis has got the key, ready in hand, so I don’t even need to pick the lock. It might have been harder if this was a clear night, but there’s a storm rolling in and the only lights are a couple of flickering street lamps and the steady rhythm of the lighthouse in the distance.

Getting the cop out of the way requires a page out of my childhood, though it’s harder to pull off than I remember. Used to be one well thrown rock ricocheting down an alley could get a guard wandering warily from his post to investigate. But then, Bellman runs a tight ship with good people. It takes a second rock and pitching a brick through a window, but it works.

I’ll worry about gettin’ out again when it’s time to get out.

Aldis keeps looking over his shoulder as we jog to the door as quiet as we can manage, his lips pursed in disapproval. We can hear the rain out on the water, now, and I hope it covers for the sound of the hinges when he finally gets the damn thing unlocked. It’s dark inside. I didn’t expect any different, but that doesn’t make me any more comfortable about it, not even with a flashlight in hand. There’s too many metal racks I can’t see the top of, too many crates I can’t see around, and no clear path to the only exit I know will open.

He moves confidently between the racks, shining his own flashlight here and there as he looks for the Greek shipment. I would have thought it’d be toward the front, but there’s obviously a more comprehensive system involved. As much as I’m sure that’s easier for the museum, every step farther into the unit makes me wonder if tonight is the night my gut instinct gets me killed. Gets _us_ killed. The thought alone twists my stomach into a knot.

I almost walk into Aldis cos he’s stopped in front of a long crate on one of the metal racks. “This it?”

Aldis is quiet a moment, reaching out at last to set one hand on the crate. He nods, jaw clenched, and even in the dim light I can see the war of grief and anger. When I squeeze his shoulder, I’d like to say it’s just to comfort him. Truthfully we need to get this done and get gone. Aldis just takes a deep breath and turns, flashlight skimming over other crates until he found a few crowbars. It takes some work to pry the lid off, there’s so many goddamn nails in it, and once we have Aldis sorts silently through the packing hay.

The items are all very… Greek, I guess. I ain’t ever been the type to pay much mind to art, and history was my worst subject when I was a kid. There’s a vase with what looks like two men either wrestling or fucking, all black ceramic and faded paint, and a collection of fragments that are maybe a tablet when puzzled back together. Aldis pretty much leaves those in the box, though, frowning in consternation. The last, though, hell. You don’t need to be a historian to know that _this_ is what the killers are after.

It’s a large, ornate plate, by far wider than it is deep. In the crappy light it looks like the base is probably the same black ceramic, but it’s chipped paint is in much better condition. That, and the metal inlays that look like maybe silver and bronze and what might just be gold. The rim is circled in knot-work, the center done in elaborate detail depicting a map centered more or less around Greece.

Which, apparently, is the perfect moment for the click of a gun’s hammer cocking to break the echoing quiet.  


~~~~~

  


God I hate it when I’m right.

“If you would be so kind, Mr. Hodge,” Barker says from the shadows, stepping just close enough for us to see the shape of him —and the gun he’s holding— in the dark. Suddenly the button makes sense, hell, I can even see the spot on his coat where it was torn away. “I will take the Atlantis Plate.”

I have to resist the urge to sneer at how reverently he refers to the plate. Atlantis is a fuckin’ myth, after all. But Aldis’ face screws up with anger and maybe somethin’ a little darker. “You did this?” I hope Aldis is enough of a distraction to start edging to the side, away from the light just a little, that the rattling of the rain on the roof will be enough to cover any noise I make.

Barker sighs, tipping his head like he was just trying to be patronizing. “ _I_ did nothing distasteful. Had you given the project to me instead of your pet assistant no one would ever have discovered the plate was gone. Surely even you realize that had you been the one here that night no violence would have been necessary. Now. Give me the plate. My employers are not patient men.” I start reaching for my revolver, and Barker swings his gun toward me. “Please don’t make this any more difficult than necessary Mr. Kane.”

Aldis bites his lip like he ain’t half as comfortable with the change in aim as I am. Barker’s not likely to shoot us both, is likely to shoot so he can grab the plate and run, but the kid probably doesn’t know how to tell. “Alright. Let’s… just be polite about this, alright?” He licks his lips and holds the plate out in front of him. “It’s not worth anyone else dying.”

“On the contrary, Mr. Hodge. But you and your foolish assistant are not worthy of the plate’s secrets. You would put it on a shelf and never think to try to unravel the riddle of the map, when it would lead you to the very gates of the Lost City.” Barker was starting to lower the gun. Not much, maybe, but then he’s not stupid.

Aldis takes another step forward, and then another. All he has to do is let Barker take the plate. I can take him when he turns his back. Or better, follow him back to his damnable employers, preferably with some boys in blue to make all appropriate arrests. Just give him the damn plate. But no, I see the way Aldis’ shoulders tense, and so does Barker.

There’s no way this ends well.

In my mind’s eye I can see it. The way he falls. The way he bleeds. The way his eyes go blank and empty and his blood is on my hands, like before. Just like before. Yeah, well. Ain’t gonna happen this time.

I move without thinking much more than that. Aldis is swingin’ with his free hand; Barker’s takin’ aim. I take the handful of steps to close the distance at a sprint, put myself between Aldis and the gun. There’s the muzzle flash, the crack of the bullet, and for a second all I’m aware of is pain. It’s a long moment before enough of the shock wears off for me to register that I took the bullet through the side of my chest, and thank whoever is watching out for me that a few deep breaths prove at least it missed the lung. Aldis wouldn’t have been so lucky.

He’s all but holding me up against the shelving, wide eyed and breathing hard. “You… did you…?”

“I’m fine,” I growl out, ignoring the way the pain radiates out. He doesn’t look like he believes me but I push him back, thankful for once for my damn jacket or he’d never listen. All he’d see is the blood, and the kid’s seen enough of that the past few days. “Barker couldn’t have come in the way we did.” As if on cue a door slammed, metal scraping hard on metal to the tune of a loose chain jangling. “Fire door.” I force myself to move and hope to Christ it looks natural enough Aldis won’t argue with me. “Go out the front, get the guard to radio for Chief Bellman. Barker’s gotta be meeting his _employers_ somewhere close.”

“What about you?”

I try to give him a cocky grin, but from the look on his face I must look grim. “I’m gonna follow the sonuvabitch.”

I turn and start weaving my way towards the back as fast as I dare —which ain’t fast enough by a long shot— and try not to think about how much of a lead Barker will have on me. Maybe I’ll get lucky and the old man will get slowed down by the pouring rain. When I get to the fire door I pull my gun and step out into the alley slowly. No use getting caught by surprise, right?

The alley is clear, but when I get to the end I can see him, just barely, taking a corner onto the road that leads up to the light house. Someone up there must still like me a little cos the rain is hard enough to start flooding the road and the best Barker can manage is a sloshy jog. Course, it also means it’s just as hard for me. Harder, if I manage to forget the burn in my chest and try to run a little. I’m closing the distance though, however slowly.

In the cold and the dark —barely punctuated by the street lamps, only to be startlingly illuminated by lightning— I don’t consider much how far we’re getting. I’m more worried about waiting for a good shot, only one never presents itself. And I’m starting to run out of steam by the time we round the bend and the lighthouse is looming close, right on top of us.

But Barker doesn’t aim for the lighthouse. He veers toward the waterfront instead, heading out toward a precarious natural pier of rocks. The water here is choppy, angry with the storm. I can’t begin to imagine how his contacts could be out here, since on the best of days the water is difficult to navigate, the rocks hard to walk on. But in the sweeping beam from the lighthouse, I can barely make out two silhouettes there toward the end, hunched into what might be pea coats. Out on the water I can make out what might be lights. They’re low, like a small boat, but anything small would have to be crazy to be out in weather like this.

Somethin’ ain’t right. There’s no time to sort through it all, though. Not when Barker’s gotten up on the pier, the plate clutched under one arm, his gun still in the other. And alright, maybe I’m feeling vindictive, and a little righteous. I can hear the police sirens but they’re not close enough, not when they don’t know where we are and have to search. So I go with my gut, while I’m still sure my aim will be good enough.

I can’t hear the gun over the sound of thunder. Both shots land true from the way Barker jerks, arms flying wide and his shout barely audible as the wind tears it away. He staggers, but the plate falls, glints in another sweep of light, and then Barker follows after it and collapses. I keep on —every movement starting to be agony— even when I have to cling to the handrail because a wave crashes hard against the pier.

The way Barker’s eyes stare up at me, glazed over, when the water recedes is enough to tell me he’s dead. I can see nothing now at the end of the pier, though I suppose it’s too much to hope they were swept out into the sea. And the plate? I figure I’m lucky there’s even a shard left wedged in the rocks.

“God damn it all.”  


~~~~~

  
The hospital feels bright, but I’ve gotta do my best not to scowl. It’s got less to do with the light or the pretty nurse being way too cheerful about my stitches and more to do with the tight look Chief Bellman’s giving me. She’s looking every inch her position; in fact I’m starting to think the only way she could portray herself any more as _police chief_ would be to wear the formal blues with her ribbons and badge.

“—Contaminating my crime scene,” she’s saying. I’m not so sure she’d forgive me for missing what she said on account of the nurse threading the needle through again, but it is what it is. “Count yourself fortunate Officer Zulli actually listened to Mr. Hodge when he came running out of the warehouse. He might have sat in holding all night instead, and you’d be bleeding out in a flood.”

I try a smile, though to be fair, it’s never worked on the Chief before. “C’mon, hoss. I had a hunch.” She raises an eyebrow at me almost elegantly. I swallow a little and flinch again at the nurse’s enthusiasm. I’m really in it this time. “Panned out, didn’t it?”

“More than you know,” someone says from the door. The guy is tall, dressed in a neatly pressed but entirely non-descript suit and a face made for either brooding or laughing. Also? Every inch a spook. You can always tell by the way they hold themselves.

“You were very lucky yesterday, Kane.” If I had any question that the guy was a spook, or at least a fed, the twist of Bellman’s lips would spell it out for me. “This is—”

“Agent Boreanaz.” He comes into the room, half ignoring the Chief and very distinctly not offering a hand to shake. “CIA. Were you aware Dr. Karl Barker was a Nazi sympathizer?”

“The button,” I mutter, half remembering the worn pattern, “Of course. Explains that Atlantis shit he was spouting too.”

Boreanaz freezes, his face expressly neutral. Funny how unsettlingly intense that is. “How much did he say about Atlantis? Exactly.”

My gaze flicks to Bellman for just a second, looking for some clue as to why the fuckin’ CIA gives hoot about _Atlantis_. “Not a whole lot. Just talked about it like it was holy. Said we ain’t worthy of the plate and it would’ve led us to the gates.”

His eyes widen just barely, a movement so spare I never would’ve noticed if I weren’t a PI. “They have the plate?”

“Had. Never got to the Nazis though, if that’s who was at the end of the pier. Barker dropped it when I shot him. Most of it’s probably lost to the sea, except for the one piece—”

“It’s already been submitted to evidence,” Bellman’s quick to point out. “My boys are very thorough. I’m sure we can get you the appropriate paperwork.”

Boreanaz clenches his jaw in what I imagine must be suppressed disappointment. “You’ve done your country a great service.”

“Oh sure, our Kane is a regular hero.” Chief Bellman turns toward him, arms crossing. If I didn’t know better I might think she was being protective. “Is there anything else we can do to _cooperate_ with the CIA Agent Boreanaz? The nurse seems to be done with him and I’m sure he needs his rest.” The grin she gives me is a little too happy for me to be comfortable about it.

“Just need to get a look at that part of the plate.” He barely nods at me as he leaves, letting Bellman lead him out while ticking off forms on her fingers.

“I’ll get the doctor to see to you Mr. Kane. I’m sure you want to be cleared as soon as you can,” the nurse says as she stands.

“Thanks,” I say, scrubbing my good hand over my face. Atlantis. Jesus. Well, the CIA can damn well have it, as far as I’m concerned.

“Don’t go doing anything stupid like getting dressed before he gets a look at you. And don’t let your friend give you any whiskey either. The doctor may want to draw a little blood and it’ll ruin it.”

I blink a little. “Friend?” Aldis walks in as she leaves, smiling at her before he turns his attention to me. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” He crosses his arms, looking… well. Unhappy might not be the word. “You said you were fine.”

“I am fine!” I am. I was. Mostly, anyway. No one’s made so much fuss over somethin’ like this before.

He stalks toward me. “This. Is _not_. Fine.” My mouth moves soundlessly for a second. “Don’t make me worry about you, Christian.” The look he’s giving me is earnest, like he’s asking me for something, and it makes my stomach flip a little.

Damn. Complicated might be an understatement.  


  
_Finis._  


  



End file.
